


That's the Thing about Time Travel

by catalysticskies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysticskies/pseuds/catalysticskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>TG: the thing with time travel is</i>
  <br/>
  <i>TG: you cant overthink it</i>
  <br/>
  <i>TG: just roll with it and see what happens</i>
  <br/>
  <i>TG: and above all try not to do anything retarded</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Dave sees someone in the street one night who leaves an impression on him. Several hours later, he gets a strange message from an unknown source. And it doesn't happen just once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_TG: rose are you there_  
 _TT: Evidently._  
 _TG: ok cool because_  
 _TG: im kind of freaking out here_  
 _TG: internally_  
 _TG: not really freaking out but its just really odd_  
 _TT: What is?_  
 _TG: thisll probably sound kind of weird but_  
 _TG: i saw myself today_  
 _TT: Mirrors have been around a long time, Dave._  
 _TG: no listen im serious_  
 _TG: like 100%_  
 _TG: i saw myself in person_  
 _TG: like another me_  
 _TT: Interesting._  
 _TT: I don't suppose you'd like to step me through the encounter?_  
 _TG: ok well_  
 _TG: it was just a regular night at the club right_

You're packing up your gear after your shift, some regular trash blaring out the speakers as you haul your load backstage. You give the tech guy a fist bump on your way past, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you step out into the alley behind the club. It's been raining, the ground damp and the smell of wet pavement filling your nose. The air's cool, but not especially cold. You turn to walk down the alley and notice a figure leaning against the wall at the corner. It's not strange to find people down here, but there's something that grabs you about this particular guy. As though he could hear you, he looks up, a pair of shades set firmly on his face despite it being three in the morning and as dark as the inside of a puppet's plush ass.

Those are your goddamn shades.

He pushes himself off the wall, and you swear to god he flicks you a wave before shoving his hand back in his pocket. You catch the backside of his obscene white suit jacket as he turns the corner, and goddamn are you curious about his deal, so you find yourself jogging to the end of the alley, stopping at the end. Despite there being a majority of the block in front of you, he's gone. You know there aren't any other alleys or pockets between buildings the rest of the block, so you have no idea where he could have gone.

This annoys you more than it should as you turn the other way to head back to your apartment. You can't help the glimpse you caught of his face flashing across your eyes again and again. The rain starts back up before you get back, a light drizzle, but it's enough to leave you soaked by the time you open your door, dumping your bag on the couch as you go to shower and change.

After a couple of hours of musing over your breakfast, you decide to try for a second opinion. You settle down at your desk, sipping from your coffee as you boot up your com. You're surprised to actually see someone online, the name a light purple instead of the grey across your other two contacts. It's early for her, but you don't question it, opening her chat window to message her. She replies brusquely, and you begin to reiterate your events to her. She waits until you're done before saying anything.

TT: Maybe it was just a chance encounter.  
TT: You know, there's an urban myth that somewhere out there is someone who looks exactly like you. Maybe you happened to run into them.  
TT: Or it could just be that you were mistaking him, and he's actually a stranger you've never met.  
TG: he obviously knew who i was he fucking waved at me the little shit  
TG: i dunno i guess i should just forget about it  
TG: its probably really irrelevant  
TT: Likely.  
TT: Either way, I suggest you try not to think about it.  
TT: I have to go. Don't stay up too late.  
TG: ha  
TG: later rose

You spend the next few hours preening and polishing some of your new mixes, swapping between software on your com and the turntables that sit proudly against your wall. You realise you're actually getting pretty tired, and checking the time you realise it's about two in the afternoon. It's a good thing you don't have another gig tonight, or you'd be getting five hours tops.

You're shutting down any programs that don't need to be running while you're asleep when pesterchum flashes at you. Opening it, none of your friends are online. Great, some random tool bothering you. Pulling open the message, you're hit with surprise as you try to find the name of whoever wants you. The space at the top of the window is blank, and there's no acronym before the message.

14:16, August 12th, 2006, 29.742076, -95.422356.

That was exactly seven years ago yesterday, you calculate. You would have been thirteen. You don't bother looking up whatever the location is. You're more focused on trying to figure out who the hell would be sending you this crap, and why. After you find you've wasted twenty minutes staring at the black characters over and over again, you decide to finally punch in the co-ordinates into Google maps.

It takes you to Houston, Texas. You zoom in to street level and look at the building it directed you to. Your old apartment complex. You don't know if it's coincidence, or if someone's been doing their research. You hope to god it isn't the latter, but there's about a 99.9% chance that it is. Someone knows who you are, and they're ready to fuck with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The co-ordinates for Dave's house are just a random place I picked in Houston, because after more than two hours of scouring the entire comic I couldn't for the life of me find his location. All other ones referring to John, Rose, and Jade that are going to follow are 100% accurate with the comic though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity. -William Penn._

"Do you always have to order the most bizzarely named coffee on the menu?"

Rose smiles to the waiter as he sets your cups down, her manicured hands cupping around the ceramic and lifting it to her mouth for a taste. "There's no point in trying out coffee shops if you're not trying out coffee," she says as she reunites the cup with its saucer.

"How are we gonna know which cafe is the best if you keep getting something different every time?" When you first moved here early last year the two of you decided you'd try out every coffee shop in town, and even some around the outskirts. You've been going out every fortnight since.

"Live a little, Dave. How's your boring old flat white?"

"Probably better than whatever shit you have."

"It's quite nice, actually. Vanilla cream, with hints of cinnamon and mint." You have to admit, that does sound kind of nice. You sit and chat for a while over your drinks, catching up and sharing stories of happenings over the past week, her with college and you at various clubs. You walk her back to her car afterwards, then heading back to your own.

You fish through your pockets for your keys, unlocking your shitty hatchback and sliding in. You're on your way home when you get caught at a set of lights, which in itself is entirely irrelevant, but as you watch the people crossing the street in front of you, your shaded eyes meet another's. He's wearing a black suit, the small white circle on the breast crossed through. His face and suit are covered with dirt, his sunglasses scratched. He looks at you as he walks past, and with the angle of the sunlight, you catch a glimpse of his eyes -or, you think you do. All you see is the white of the sclera. The moment passes and the guy behind you gives you a hearty honk for having not paid attention to the lights, and you think about that man the rest of the drive back.

It's several hours later when the message comes. You're talking to John, relaxing and staying up given you don't have work for the next few days. You open the flashing application excpecting to see his reply, but instead you're greeted with the single line of black text.

7:43, September 7th, 2006, 47.362101, -122.054144.

That's the second one. You notice the numbers in the location are different, so you copy and paste them into the map. It takes you to the west coast, the street view showing you a small suburban area. You don't recognise the house, so you tell it to show you the address. You recognise that one.

You pull John's chat window back up.

EB: ok sorry, i'm back.  
TG: nw  
TG: hey have you been getting any weird messages lately  
EB: weird how?  
TG: like they dont have a username or anything that shows up  
TG: and its just a time and place  
EB: umm, no, i haven't gotten anything like that.  
TG: ok cool  
TG: nevermind then  
EB: now i'm curious!  
EB: have you been getting them?  
TG: yeah  
TG: two now  
TG: i think i might have a stalker or something  
EB: why, did they know who you were?  
TG: they didnt say my name specifically  
TG: like i said just a time and place  
TG: the first one was my place back in texas  
TG: and i got another one just now  
EB: where was that one?  
TG: thats why i asked  
TG: turns out its your old place  
EB: what!  
EB: how do they know where we lived?  
TG: hackers or something who knows  
TG: either way im just gonna sit it out and see what happens  
TG: if they keep telling me places  
EB: have you tried talking to them? like sending a message back?

Oh. You hadn't actually thought of that. You reopen the other window, typing a simple 'who are you' to them, then telling John you sent one. You discuss it a while more before moving on to something else, though you keep flicking back to check the other window. You don't get a reply.

Your experience of the next month or two is blurred and mashed together in a cloud you can't really be bothered trying to decipher. Between hanging out with your friends and working at the club and various other menial tasks that make up your life, you're surprised you aren't more focused on them like you usually are, but it's kind of hard to be when you keep dreading every moment you walk outside. There's been several instances where you get the cold feeling down your spine, whirling around to find the cause and seeing nothing, or, on the odd occassion, the silhouette that is quickly becoming familiar to you. Four or five times you've actually seen his face -your face- before he's gone. You tried chasing him down a few times, but just as you get close he'll turn a corner or duck behind a car or something, and then he's just... gone. You don't know how he does it.

Every time you see him you get another one of the messages. Various times and places, usually your old place, but it sometimes changes between the three of your friends. Jade's house is the second most common. You still don't know what they mean, and after three days of trying, you stopped sending messages back in an attempt to find out. There's a pattern to them -when you see him, you'll get the message, and the time and date will be varying hours before the actual encounter. That's about all you can get from it. The locations seem to have no rhyme or reason to them.

One particular encounter stands out to you. You're heading home after your shift at the club, hunched against the cold as the light snow settles on your glasses. You don't know why you agreed to moving to this state. Someone grabs your shoulder from behind and you whirl around, ready to sock them right in the goddamn nose, you're not doing this shit right now, but you stop.

Your own face stares back at you. He's wearing some obnoxiously green suit, but bright as it is that isn't what catches you. Your eyes drift down from his face, settling on the red liquid stained in a ring around his neck. It looks like someone tried to slit his throat, and he never cleaned up the blood. His face is blank as he holds up a slip of paper, his breath huffing in white clouds in your face. You take it, and he turns and walks away. You don't go after him. You shove the paper in your pocket, waiting until you're back at home to bother with it. John made you watch enough spy movies for you to know you don't go opening secret messages in public, even if it is a small sidestreet at two in the morning.

You settle down at your desk with a coffee. As you expected, you get a message about twenty minutes after you log in, stating some time yesterday afternoon. You pull the paper back out; small, nondescript, a single line of text on it. It's red, and not the black you were expecting.

4:13, November 17th, 2013, 43.074247, -89.394824.

It takes you several minutes before you realise the year is different, and you stop. Your hands go cold.

That's two days from now.


	3. Chapter 3

You copy the numbers into your phone on the day, using the map to find your way to the location. You find yourself in a dead-end backstreet, surrounded by the rear ends of tall buildings with little amounts of windows. You're about fifteen minutes before the time written, looking around for some kind of sign you needed to be here. You prop yourself against one of the concrete walls, burying your face in your scarf as you pull out your phone.

TG: ok im here

TG: theres no one else around

TG: pretty deserted

TG: still dont know why i came

TG: fucking cold though

TG: i dont think im going to get over this fact

TG: ever

TG: something better happen soon or im out

TT: You're rambling, Dave.

TG: bs i dont ramble

TT: You ramble when you're stressed. I'm surprised you haven't realized this.

TT: I'm still not sure what exactly the deal is with all of this nonsense.

TT: Some guy, that you're convinced is another you, is stalking you?

TT: Are you sure you're not going to get stabbed?

TG: probably

TG: who knows

TG: not me

TG: or maybe weird stalker me does i dunno

TG: wait

Your eyes moves from the text on your screen to the flash you just caught in your peripherals. You drop your phone back in your pocket as you walk slowly towards it, looking into a little nook between two buildings that wouldn't even classify as a baby alley. There's nothing in it except for some discarded pieces of what once would have been furniture, some torn flyers and stray trash, and-

You stop dead.

There's a guy hunched over on the floor, his back turned a little towards you so you can't see his face, but you _know_ , you don't need to see that face to know it's yours. He looks a lot smaller though, younger, wearing the shirt with the red sleeves that you had when you were thirteen. He's wheezing something fierce, his breath choked and rattling in his lungs, little cloud puffs leaving his mouth a lot faster and smaller than they should be. He turns his head to look at you, blood leaking from his mouth and his eyes hidden by his foggy shades, and you see the edges of his lips twitch up just a little at the sight of you.

"Hey, man," he mumbles, a wet and suffocating sound. You notice his hands are clutched around his chest, knuckles white with a splatter of fresh red.

"The fuck is going on?" you say, for lack of anything else, still standing frozen a couple metres from him.

He turns his head to look up, chuckling slightly. "You'd have to be the luckiest one out of all of us. You got a girl?"

You don't understand how that's related to anything. "Not really." You kind of have a thing going with Rose, but neither of you have confirmed it.

"Shame. Guess that's for the best tho-" He breaks off, doubling over with a quiet groan, his teeth locking together. Despite how uncomfortable this all is for you, you go over to him, crouching down next to him to put a hand on his shoulder. He gives a few body wrenching coughs, spitting blood onto the pavement, then leans back against the wall, gasping. You get a good look at the cause -there's not much you can see through all the blood, but there's definitely some kind of stab wound. Huh. "What time 's it?" he chokes out, not looking at you.

You shuffle to check your phone. Rose has been messaging you, but you ignore it. "Eight past four."

"Damn, I still got five minutes of this shit."

You run through the math in your head. "So wait, this time and place bullshit, what does the actual time mean?"

He smirks again, tiredly. "Time, date, place. That's the order right? Time comes first, 'cause that shit's important, the date's related to that, and the place comes last because she always said she had your back."

"Okay, I need to know before I listen to this shit. Are you delusional while you're dying here in a filthy backstreet?" Because shit is making zero sense to you.

"Fuck, nah, I'm still perfectly sane."

"Good to know."

He sucks in a sharp breath, and you think it might be worsening, but he heaves it back out again in a jagged sigh. "Man, where the fuck is this? Colder than yeti piss."

"Wisconsin, tell me about it."

"Jesus, not even gonna ask why you're up here. What are you, like... nineteen?"

"Twenty."

"Word." That doesn't really belong there, but you're excusing your prepubescent dying self for any mishaps. You notice he's not even shuddering, despite it being twenty goddamn degrees, but you can feel the cold emanating from his skin where your hand is still on his shoulder. "Fuck, I'm gonna pass out soon. Lucky I lasted this long. Was I saying anythin' important?"

"Time, date, place?"

"Oh yeah." He pauses to take a breath. "Okay, so when we first started time hoppin' and doomed offshoots started showin' up, we made a promise to ourselves. If we become an offshoot, we gotta go find other doomed Daves and tell 'em what's up."

You would usually be frustrated about how vague that is and how you didn't understand any of it, but you're not now, for some reason. His words kind of slur together through the liquid in his mouth and is collapsing body. "The fuck are doomed offshoots? And this time hopping business?"

"John's birthday." It's like he didn't hear you. "That's when we started playing the game. 'It'll be fun', we said. Pretty fucking wrong on that one. People dyin' left 'n right. You've seen a lot of us haven't you?"

You nod, then realise his eyes are closed under his shades. "Yeah. Been popping up for months."

He nods to himself, confirming what he already knew. "God, it's so cold I might die. _Ha_." That 'ha' isn't sarcastic or ironic or a joke in any way, even if he's aiming for it. It sounds indescribably sad to you, the dying laugh of a broken man. "We came back to warn you. We all promised we would. You had it pretty good, gettin' to live 'thout the game."

You're suddenly gripped by the numbing cold of realisation. Every other Dave you've seen, all of the 'doomed offshoots' you've seen, the various markings of injury and death. Gunshots, stab wounds, burns, a fucking decapitation. The fact this kid now, bleeding out in front of you, has to warn you of something. You have a dim feeling of what that warning is, but you might be jumping ahead. He's almost gone now, you can tell. He's hardly breathing anymore, any hint of that smirk wiped from his face. "Warn me about what?"

"You don't need to worry about my body by the way, jus' leave it."

"Okay, will do. What warning?"

"I'm sorry man, your life ain't meant to be. You're one of us." His hands relax from where they clutched at the wound, his tense body slowly going limp as he breathes, "You're doomed."

\--

_Time of death: 4:13, November 17th, 2013._


End file.
